Ain't poetry just the best?
Pots in the Shed.
Nigel found those potis in the shed,
Held one high above his head,
His sister in her rubber mac,
Called to him to put it back.
But Nigel was completely captivated and couldn't hear her at all.
Nigels sister skipped in the lane,
When suddenly a cry of pain,
Shook the calm and village air,
And shortly after in despair.
Nigel came out of the shed with blood gushing out of his head and a great big lump on his forehead.
Nigels sister laughed with glee.
"That serves you right, believe you me,"
"You never heard a word I said,"
"You should have left those pots in the shed."
But Nigel couldn't hear that either as he had concussion.
Pots in the Shed.
Nigel found those potis in the shed,
Held one high above his head,
His sister in her rubber mac,
Called to him to put it back.
But Nigel was completely captivated and couldn't hear her at all.
Nigels sister skipped in the lane,
When suddenly a cry of pain,
Shook the calm and village air,
And shortly after in despair.
Nigel came out of the shed with blood gushing out of his head and a great big lump on his forehead.
Nigels sister laughed with glee.
"That serves you right, believe you me,"
"You never heard a word I said,"
"You should have left those pots in the shed."
But Nigel couldn't hear that either as he had concussion.